


Change In Perspective

by EclipseWing



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set early S9 SPN and early S3b TW during 3.14.</p><p>Sam and Dean turn up unnecessarily to help out a werecoyote in Beacon Hills, California. Scott is confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change In Perspective

“Crap.”

Next to him Stiles rolls his eyes. “Major understatement.”

“I don’t get it,” Scott shakes his head. “I wolfed out. I howled. Nothing happened.”

“How the hell did you miss her?” Stiles gestures wildly with his hands.

Scott has been chiding himself for the same thing, and he doesn’t need his best friend querying his failing wolf powers now. She had been right there, a snarling coyote scared and cornered (and only a young girl, confused and frightened). Then she had been gone, fleeing through the trees and away from the car, lying wrecked in the wood, with a broken doll sitting beside it.

Lydia shrugs, “You’re a wolf. She’s a coyote.” She brushes one strand of hair behind her ear, her face a mask. Scott clenches his jaw in frustration and starts to pace, and the two watch him nervously.

“Where are Isaac and Allison?” Stiles checks his phone, “They have anything?”

“Other than an unconscious father?” Scott’s runs a hand through his hair, “Who is still refusing to tell your dad where all the traps are…?”

Lydia stares off into the distance, mouthing something, but Scott doesn’t pay her any notice. Around them the sun is setting, and it’s another day of failure.

At least, Scott reasons, he can no transform. And Stiles could read too, and he guessed Allison could now shoot straight, so that was something.

“My dad will be expecting me back,” his best friend pockets his phone, “Need a lift?”

Scott forgets sometimes, when he arrives home, that Isaac now lives with them. He and Allison are sitting in the living room, and Isaac’s one jean leg is ripped to shreds. “What the hell?” he asks, checking that the beta hasn’t gotten blood all over his mom’s furniture.

“Trap,” the beta shrugs, and doesn’t meet his gaze. It takes Scott longer than it should to remember that he’s now Isaac’s alpha… that Isaac is in his pack.

Isaac is the only one in his pack technically, since Derek left there had been a lack of werewolves around. Unless you counted the twins, and nobody really did.

Allison looks up at him and he doesn’t look at her, because otherwise he knows he’ll find himself staring, mind trapped in thoughts of moments past and of how Allison’s smile was hesitant and broken like shattered glass while Kira’s was fragile and hesitant like a frosted flower and…

He shut down his brain and shook his head, “We didn’t get her,” he admits their failure. “She’s still out there but she… she ran.”

“She’s dangerous,” Isaac points out, “Scott if you can’t deal with her…”

“We’ll find her,” he snaps. “She’s still a girl.”

“She’s a coyote,” his beta growls, “She’s been a coyote for eight years. Does she even remember how to be a girl?”

“I’m going to bed,” Scott says shortly, and heads upstairs. In the living room he can hear Allison and Isaac murmuring together, and wonders if he shouldn’t be more uncomfortable about the pair.

Oh well, he thinks, sinking down onto his bed, he can always sock Isaac a new one in the morning.

*********************

It’s early morning when his phone goes off at one of those hours that unless you suffer from severe insomnia or mad gaming obsessions you never quite realise exist. He fumbles for the buzzing device as it begins a little dance around his table. In his daze he knocks it off and it falls to the carpet.

With a curse he pushes himself up, and then proceeds to half fall off the bed grabbing his phone. He answers it without checking the caller I.D. uttering a sleepy: “Hello?”

 _“Scott?”_ Lydia whispers over the phone, _“I know where she is.”_

It’s like caffeine and he sits up, “Malia?” he checks, “How?”

There is fumbling on the other side of the line and then Stiles’ voice can be heard. It’s a testament to their friendship that Scott doesn’t even ask how Stiles came to be with Lydia in the middle of the night, although considering the latter’s propensity for wandering it shouldn’t really be surprising. “Meet us in the new houses along the edge of town. The new estate?”

“I know the place.” He’s got his phone between his shoulder and ear, grabbing jeans, a shirt while trying to pull on socks. “Why there?”

The phone must be on speaker for Lydia answers, “Something’s there. It’s… I can’t explain it. It’s like… people who’ve been frozen and burnt but I know she’s there.”

The description makes no sense, but Scott confirms a meeting spot and finishes pulling on his socks. They’re mismatched, but he doesn’t care.

“Isaac!” he almost bellows, but remembering his mom asleep along the hall he instead opens the door and looks for the shape of the beta werewolf.

The bed is empty and he grits his teeth and closes the door, freezing upon the sight of his mother standing and looking disapprovingly.

“Do I even want to know?” she asks.

“Lydia knows where Malia is,” he explains.

His mom’s arms are crossed as she follows him down the stairs, “And how does she know?” she asks him.

“She says there are people there with her that she sensed. I don’t know… her psychic stuff’s weird,” he grabs his bike keys from the side.

“Scott!” his mom calls and he pauses. Her face is a mixture of expressions but eventually it settles on the concerned mother look, “Be careful.” She warns him.

He offers her up a weak grin and vanishes, leaving Melissa to fret silently.

*************************

The housing estate is on the northern edge of the town, with the forest bordering along the side. It’s newly built, with banners still flying and advertising the sales but with the houses still empty and despondent, with nobody living in them.

Blank, open windows stare out at him as he parks the bike next to Stiles’ jeep. He observes his friend shifting uneasily from foot to foot, a baseball bat in his hand. Scott frowns on it, but doesn’t comment, because at least Stiles is no longer stealing his mother’s baseball bat (although now he thinks about it, they never got the bat back and it might just have gotten smashed into splinters when fighting Ennis that one time…).

Lydia looks at him anxiously. “It started yesterday evening. Something arrived in the town. And then I feel like I’m standing on the edge… about to fall… It’s just this…” she shakes her head. “It’s been going on all night. I thought it was a weird migraine…”

She ignores Stiles’ “When is it ever just a weird migraine…?” and continues.

“Then I started to get flashes of the girl. And I knew it was Malia… and I knew she was with these… people…”

Scott looks down the road, and his wolf eyes can make out the big black car that’s barely distinguishable from the shadows. “I think they’re there.”

Stiles hefts the bat onto his shoulder, “Do you think Malia is okay?”

Lydia shakes her head, mouth pressed together in a thin line and a frown creasing her forehead. She doesn’t know. And neither does Scott but he’s not taking any chances. He can feel the wolf burn in his blood and he forces it down, thinking _not now, I can’t…_ He’s terrified, scared of his own power. It’s his though, and he accepts it, but just… not now.

“Where are Alison and Isaac?” Lydia asks him, “Didn’t you get them?”

He follows Stiles down the streets, “Isaac wasn’t in.” he replies. He takes a breath, and he can smell something in the air. Lydia is right. It’s like fire and ice, but there’s that hint that was the same scent he’d been tracking before.

Some part of him hopes and prays that when they find her, that they aren’t too late.

“Can you get her to turn?” Lydia asks, trailing behind, “If you didn’t before…?”

“I have to,” he says determinedly. “She could hurt someone… hurt herself…”

“You’re starting to sound like Isaac.”

To the right the forest ends almost right behind the houses, looming over them like a dark shadow. The street is picture perfect, with new gleaming bricks and pretty green grass front lawns. The one at the end is the same as the others, if not for the large black car parked outside. He pays it no mind, but the vehicle smells of dust of so many roads and there’s the faint tang of blood under the strong oily scent.

“Scott stop sniffing the car,” Stiles hisses, already by the front door, checking the lock. It’s unlocked, and it clicks open without an issue. Inside the hallway is illuminated, and the light seeps out like a grin. The windows of the living room have been closed tightly, and so the only way to find out anything is to go charging in.

Scott grabs Stiles and jumps in, reckless as usual (but then he tended to find that those plans worked the best). He had no idea what he was facing, other than Lydia’s vague assurance that they were people and that Malia was there too.

The door bangs against the wall louder than he intended as he stalks in, bypassing the hallway in a few steps and into the living room.

Behind him Stiles mutters something about ‘stupid wolves’ and he can’t help think that his friend is right and he should stop leaping without looking when the man inside levels the gun right at him.

Trouble loves him.

The weapon is familiar in the man’s hands, and considering that he managed to get it out within the space of time Scott had barrelled through the door it was pretty damn impressive (although personally Scott was getting tired of guns being pointed at him, because even if they didn’t kill him they sure hurt a lot).

Scott freezes up, and behind him Stiles and Lydia don’t get enough warning to stay back and stay hidden. Stiles is still brandishing his baseball bat and he drops it slightly, jaw going slack.

“Why the hell do you have a baseball bat?” the guy demands, and Scott wonders why that’s the weirdest thing about the situation. He’s tall, just over six foot with short spiky blonde hair. He looks thirty something in age, but his eyes look older. He smells like blood and leather and engine oil, along with faint traces of lightning and sulphur that make Scott want to cower, although he doesn’t know why.

The wolf instincts are probably right though when Lydia’s eyes roll up in her head and she collapses. Stiles drops down beside her and Scott does what any other caged animal would. He prepares to lash out, but the click of the safety makes him reconsider.

“Easy there White Fang,” the man considers him, gun lowering only slightly. He doesn’t take his gaze off the three of them, but turns his head to the side, calling over his shoulder. “Sam!” he barks sharply, “We have house guests!”

Scott hears the footsteps and smells the new arrival before he sees him. His scent is also one of blood and gunpowder, but it’s mixed with something that smells likes sickly sweet flowers and rotten egg that contrast each other. There’s also an overlay of lightning and ice that fades in and out as the guy approached.

He enters the room and Scott stops growling. This guy is even taller that the first hunter, but his eyes are doleful and almost cute where the other man’s are harsh and judging. “Dean.” His voice is calm, assessing the situation. “What’s going on?” his eyes fall on where Lydia shivers on the floor, beginning to blink and stir. “Did you shoot her?” he asks, and Scott wonders if that might still be a possibility.

The first guy - Dean - looks offended. “Those three just stormed in here and then she collapsed. Why do you always blame me?” Sam ignores him, stepping past the other man, and Scott’s breath caught because he was tall. “Can I…?” he asks the two boys, but Stiles glares and Scott shakes his head.

“It’s…” Lydia clutches gently at Stile’s wrist, her grasp weak, “It’s just… it burns. And…” her gaze grows unfocussed, “Echoes.”

Dean swears. “She’s psychic?” he asks them, and the casual mention of the term sends Scott’s brain into overdrive.

Stiles does a double take on the ground, putting it together first “You’re a hunter?” he asks. He looks at Sam, “You’re hunters?”

Scott growls at that word, and the wolf courses through his blood. He feels the power spread through his veins, and knows his eyes are glowing red and he is seconds from wolfing out.

“Woah…” Sam backs up a step, hands up. “Easy. We’re not… killing anything.”

“Sure about that Sammy?” Dean doesn’t drop his gun. “Who are you kids?” he asks… or more like demands.

“You qualified to even own that thing?” Trust Stiles to be caught up about the weapon that is currently pointed right at them, “Let alone be pointing it at children.”

“Children?” the guy scoffs, “Try mutts,” he corrects, waving with the gun at them in a casual manner that makes Scott uneasy.

“Dean,” Sam snaps. “Put it down.”

The other guy looks disgruntled but lowers the weapon. “Is she okay?” he asks Stiles, still glaring at him.

Lydia nods for herself, “What’s wrong with you?” she asks and both hunters stiffen.

Scott can smell them, the lightning and ice and burnt, slightly dead smell from the humans underneath the usual scent. It terrifies him, and he has no idea what it is, or what Lydia senses, but it’s big, bigger than they’ve ever had to deal with.

“You’re the banshee,” Sam replies, ignoring the question. His own statement leaves no room for doubt. “We’ve heard about you, and the rest of you.” he gestures to Scott. “You’re the pureblood pack that runs here?”

“The what?” Scott relaxes slightly.

“Is she okay?” Sam presses, and then looks at Lydia, addressing her, “Are you okay?”

Lydia stands with Stiles’ help, wobbling slightly and not quite looking at either Dean or Sam.

“If she’s a banshee…” Dean frowns at her, “That’s all the death wailing isn’t it? Sensing death… violent events…” he winces.

“I’m fine,” Lydia shakes off Stiles’ helping hand.

The pair of hunters exchange a glance and words seem to pass between them unsaid.

Scott scents the air again, searching beyond the scorched burnt smell of the hunters (although the tall one, Sam, has a sickly sweet overlay to his scent) and he picks up what he is expecting.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“That’s why you’re here?” Sam asks, “The girl?”

“Her name is Malia!” Stiles snaps. He always gets defensive when there’s an innocent involved.

The tall hunter steps aside, and after a moment’s pause the other one does as well. “She’s in there,” Dean tells them. “She’s safe.”

Scott moves forwards, and Stiles and Lydia follow, moving through the living room into another room.

Behind him he can hear Dean remark to Sam, “Seriously dude. Were-coyotes? That’s what we’ve come to now days?”

“Be thankful there’s not time travel,” is the snippy retort and Scott takes a moment to process that nothing the pair say are going to make sense, so instead he focusses on the dark room.

It’s dim, but that’s not a problem for him, and neither for Stiles or Lydia who spend a lot of time with him lately in dark places and their eyesight must have improved. There is a blanket on the floor and a girl is curled up there, with an oversize plaid shirt on, her hair long and draping around her shoulders.

For a moment he finds himself looking for the coyote, before realising that the girl is Malia. She’s young and thin, and looks like she’s been picked up from the woods. The clothes are obviously one of the men’s, and the shirt and baggy hoodie are almost enough to wrap around her thin frame twice.

She stirs slightly as they enter and her eyes blink open. Scott recognises the gaze staring back at him, even though these eyes are human and not a coyote.

“Your…” she coughs, her voice weak, hoarse and trembling. She hasn’t spoken since she was a child, eight years ago, but it appears she still remembers how. “You’re the wolf,” she whispers, flinching back slightly.

“It’s okay,” Lydia steps forwards, crouching down to her level. “Malia, right? Are you okay?”

The girl nods, trembling, and her eyelids drift closed.

“Let her sleep,” Dean tells them from the door way. “In the morning you can take her back to her father. You’re the Sheriff’s son, right?” he directs towards Stiles.

“How do you know?” Stiles snaps, stalking warily towards him.

Dean slips away, back into the living room. The room is empty and bare, but in the corner Scott notices the duffle bag and laptop case he hadn’t before. Clothes stick out of another bag and another has the smell of gun oil and rusty blood.

Scott assesses each hunter, and neither of them look intimidated.

“How did you get her to turn back?” Stiles asks, keeping his voice low so not to wake Malia. “Did you hurt her?”

“We didn’t hurt her!” Dean seems offended.

“Dean spoke to her,” Sam frowns, puzzled. “I… “

“Sam tripped,” Dean’s smile is fake and his heart beat only changing subtly. He’s a good liar, but this lie… something about it eats him up and Scott catches the change in pulse. “He hits his head. So I… talked to Malia… and she relaxed enough to transform.”

“How?” Stiles frowns at him, obviously just as distrusting as Scott is, “She’s been a coyote for eight years,” he emphasises, “She’s attacked people.”

“She was scared,” the hunter reasons, “And from the expressions your wolfie friend keeps shooting us, we don’t exactly smell like ‘people’.”

He hits it spot on but Scott doesn’t react.

“You’re hunters,” he points out. “Why aren’t you going to kill me? Cut me in half?”

Dean scoffs, “You think highly of yourself mutt. But we’re not here to deal with some tame purebloods. We were just here for the girl.”

“Are you going to hurt her?” Lydia demands.

“What?” Sam shakes his head, “No. We’ll let you take her back to her father in the morning. You saw her right - she’s fine.”

Scott glances back to the gloomy room where she slumbers safely, and knows that they’re speaking the truth. In front of them the two hunters shift slightly. They seem to revolve around each other, each making subtle adjustments every time one of them moves.

It speaks of experience and a long-time partnership. Both however look weary, and worn down. He listens to their heart beats, calm and almost in sync with each other. It’s actually kind of eerie but the two seem reassured by each other’s presence.

“So you talked to her?” Stiles repeats, sceptically.

The blonde shoots a sideways glance at the tall hunter. “Yeah,” he shrugs, and this time Scott doesn’t detect the lie. “We got her trapped in here and just spoke her through it. She did most of it herself… found some grounding…”

“An anchor…” Scott realises.

“You’re the alpha, right?” Sam steps forwards, showing interest in them.

“Tame werewolves,” Dean shakes his head, “It’s too weird man.”

“We’ve seen weirder,” the older one murmurs.

“I thought hunters didn’t ask questions?” Stiles accuses, “I thought you just killed.”

“Haven’t met a lot of hunters, have you?” Dean scoffs, but doesn’t offer any more.

Sam stands awkwardly for a moment, “That makes you Scott, right?” he nods at Scott. He meets his gaze and Scott nods in confirmation. “I’m Sam.” The hunter introduces himself. “Sam Winchester. This is my brother.” He gestures to where the other man has started to pace up and down like a cornered predator, wary eyes darting around the room. “Dean.” At the sound of his name he stops pacing, pausing behind Sam as if he wants to protect him, but then he moves to the side and resumes his pacing.

Brothers. It kind of makes sense and Scott examines them again with new eyes. “How do you know?” he asks. “You’ve only been here since yesterday evening.”

The pair shift. “Beacon Hills is big news in some circles,” Dean shrugs, and the pacing is making Scott nervous. “It’s like a beacon to all things big, bad with teeth and claws.”

“It’s kind of been on our list of places to check out,” Sam admits, taking the role of explaining things, “Suspicious animal attacks… then reports of a lizard thing running around. We’ve kind of had other issues on our mind.”

Dean coughs, but Scott recognises his attempt to hide a laugh, although the laugh itself just sounds frustrated.

“We read up before we arrived,” Sam shrugs, “We have a… batcave of information and Beacon Hills warrants its own box.” The word ‘batcave’ is said with amusement and his brother smiles. “Then we ran searches and put together the pieces. You kids seem to have done a good job, all things considering.”

“’Considering?’” Stiles asks. “What’s that meant to mean?”

Dean stops pacing and green eyes turn to stare at Scott. “You’ve had what? A rogue alpha, a kanima, a pack fight between purebloods… that’s a lot of crap you kids waded through. And you still have time for school.”

“Dean.” Sam hisses, exasperated.

“Don’t look so surprised,” the brother says, “We have our sources. They’ve been keeping an eye on this place for a while now. Thought it might be interesting or beneficial to themselves but thankfully nothing came of it.”

“I don’t think you can call Crowley a ‘source’…” Sam complains.

“Just as well. Imagine what he’d do if he sent one of his minions in here? With that freaking magic tree beaming out? Just be thankful all the ang…” he stops, looks at them, “Just be thankful that most things stay away.” He finishes instead.

“Then again it kind of helps there’s a pack of purebloods based here.” Sam adds.

“What do you mean ‘pureblood’?” Scott asks, frowning at the pair. It makes them sound like pet dogs, and he doesn’t like it.

Dean gestures at Scott, expression guarded. “You.” he flails his arms a little to emphasise his point. “You’re a werewolf right? Full moon, glowy eyes, all that shebang?” Stiles nods because he kind of feels it’s needed. “You’re tame.” He says shortly, and it almost sounds like an insult before he continues. “The wolves we find? They’re wild. Feral. The bloodthirsty kind that go after human hearts.”

Oh. Scott winces. “I don’t…” he’s disgusted, because he’s had a few cases where he’s almost lost control, but he’s never hurt anyone… but he knows he could have come close. “I don’t eat hearts,” he reiterates, and it’s to reassure himself as much as the two hunters (who could still kill him). “I don’t even like liver when my mom cooks it.”

“Silver doesn’t affect you either,” Dean continues.

“Silver’s a myth,” Lydia says haughtily, “It was the family, not the element that killed werewolves.”

“Myths can become a reality,” Sam shrugs, leaning back slightly against one wall, “And silver kills a lot of things, including a lot of shapeshifters. Silver’s the element of the moon and the shifting is all linked to the phases of the moon. We’ve killed feral werewolves with it before…” he pauses, and an expression of grief crosses his face, but it’s old and barely there.

“Someone…” Dean adds, ignoring Sam’s cough of ‘freaking Campbells’ “Got the bright idea of creating a giant tulpa symbol in France somewhere. The next thing you know… silver can kill the ferals. It never quite stuck on the purebloods though, which is why we usually stick with mountain ash when it comes to you guys.”

“Not.” Sam adds, “That we normally deal with you. In fact we’ve never actually met a pureblood.”

“Uh hello?” Dean waves a hand at his brother, “Remember Kate? The chick with the video?”

“Oh yeah…” Sam shrugs, “Forgot about her.” He stares considering at the ceiling.

“You’re also purebloods because you’re only a few generations down from the alpha,” Dean adds.

“I _am_ an alpha.” Scott snaps, feeling slightly offended.

The hunter look unperturbed, “The _Alpha_.” He repeats, and this time Scott hears the capital letter. “Eve’s kid. The one who first spread the bite… then to make it worse he went and had kids… made the curse hereditary in some families. It used to be okay until a bunch of omegas went feral and started killing. Got a taste for human hearts and lost control.” He shrugged.

Scott didn’t understand half of what the hunter was saying. “You sound like you’ve been hunting a long time.” He says. “Do your whole family hunt?”

Dean laughs, but it’s bitter and Sam answers with a broken smile. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Sorta’ the family business.”

“Real shame they’re all dead.” Dean adds, and there is venom in his voice.

“Family business.” Stiles repeats, “Like the Argents?”

Dean startles and Sam freezes. “Argents?” Sam asks, “They’re here?”

“Uh… dude… you’ve been asking around about our doings for the past year and you didn’t know about the Argent family?” Stiles asks, “Christopher Argent and his daughter live here.”

Scott can pick up traces of… not quite fear… more like worry and frustration from the pair. The atmosphere is uneasy and Stiles looks nervous. He juggles his phone in his hand and looks at the lightening sky outside.

“I’m…” Stiles steps away from the hunters, “I’m going to phone my dad. Get Malia home.”

“Does he know you’re sneaking out?” Sam seems like the responsible one of the pair.

Stiles doesn’t answer, just backs away with his phone to his ear. Scott can hear the discordant ringing.

“Why did I…?” Lydia has been mostly silent, but her face is still pale. “Why are you… wrong?” she asks.

The two brothers exchange a heavy glance. Dean shrugs, and there’s a smile on his face, but it’s fake. “We pissed of Fate,” and Scott hears the capital letter. “Guess your little destiny death strands don’t like that.”

Stiles finishes his phone conversation and steps towards them. “My dad’s on the way.”

“That’s our cue.” Sam moves for the bags, “We’ll be clearing out.”

“Wait… what?” Scott frowns at them, “Don’t you guys want to hang around a bit? Check I’m not going to go heart-eating psycho?”

“You could meet the Argents,” Lydia offers, and she looks curiously at the pair. “They’re hunters too.”

Dean catches the bag Sam throws at him. “That’s the point,” he tells them, “We’d be kind of … intruding on his territory.”

“I’m sure he’d be grateful that he’s not the lone hunter amongst werewolves,” Scott points out.

“Look thanks,” Sam pauses, “Thanks for the offer. But we’re not exactly welcomed by other hunters.”

Scott frowns, and Lydia narrows her eyes at them, and he can sort of see what they mean. “Why not?” he asks, because he’s curious, and these guys seem decent, if mysterious and vague, but they helped Malia and for now, that’s good enough for him.

He trusts them.

“We…” Sam swallows, “We don’t just hunt werewolves and shapeshifters like the Argents tend to do. We spread out and… some of our dealings with other kind of monsters don’t exactly leave us popular.”

“So it was nice meeting you kids,” Dean shoves a card at Scott, “Good look with whatever freak shows up here next and if you need help let us know.”

“Wait, woah!” Stiles looks frustrated. “You drop a bombshell like that and you just leave?”

Sam makes for the door. “Look after Malia,” he says, pausing in front of Stiles, and then sidestepping the eager teenager. Dean follows, giving them a weak grin.

“Other monsters? You mean like vampires right?” Stiles pipes up, “Are vampires real?” He ignores their goodbyes and trails them out. Scott can hear him pestering them about vampires and ghosts.

“Well that was nice.” Lydia says to an empty room. 

Scott is left feeling slightly confused.

***********************

Allison doesn’t recognise the name ‘Winchester’. But her father does.

“Are they still here?” he asks, looking guarded.

Scott shakes his head. “Who are they? They took off as soon as they knew Malia was going to be okay. And they smelt… weird…”

“Weird how?” Chris asks.

“Human mostly.” Scott struggles to explain it. “But both stank of sulphur. And the one… Dean… he smelt like lightning and blood while Sam was all sickly sweet flowers and ice. And…” he considers this last one, that had taken him a while to realise because it was buried underneath of the contrasting scents of fire and ice, “They smelt dead.”

Chris looks tired. Unusually so. “They were wise to take off.” He tells them. “They… you kids don’t want to be messing with the Winchesters. They… the rumours I hear about them…”

“What kind?” Allison asks, “You’ve never told me any.” She accuses.

“That’s because nobody believes them,” Argent says. “Because according to other hunters Dean Winchester was dead and then he wasn’t. Then Sam Winchester was dead but he turns up months later alive. Then there were all the apocalypse rumours, about angels and demons and about the archangel and devil…” he stops. Sighs.

“Angels?” Stiles asks, “Angels are real?” he seems weirdly happy with all these new monsters to research.

“Apparently,” Chris says dryly. “And Sam and Dean Winchester apparently have close contacts with one, along with the King of Hell. Who knows how true that is, considering the younger brother was meant to be possessed by Lucifer at some point while the older brother was apparently in Hell?”

He looks serious all of a sudden, looking at Allison but directing his words to all of them.

“You stay away from them, you hear me? They’re dangerous men. People around them die, and I won’t have them drag you into one of their Heaven Hell games. If they show up again, or try to contact you, tell me. Got it?”

They obediently nod, Stiles with narrowed eyes and Lydia with blatant curiosity, and Allison with resentment.

Scott decides not to mention the phone numbers in his pocket and nods as well.


End file.
